DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything associated with the show… I just like playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!
SPOILERS: Season 8 - Some time after "Goodbye & Good Luck"
WORD COUNT: 440
SUMMARY: Sara goes for a walk along the shore… Inspired by Longfellow's "The Day is Done."
A/N: Was feeling a touch angsty last week and so I was reading through some poetry. When I came across "The Day is Done," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, I was compelled by the Plot Bunnies to write this ficlet. And it really is a ficlet, not just a regularly short story. If only I could write more of these, it wouldn't take so long to finish something. LOL
REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the work or not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at least a little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time to read.
I walk along the rocky shore, the cooling dusk swirls around me as the spray from the rising tide touches my face. The air has gotten warmer as we head into summer, but I am still chilled to the bone. The desert has entered my soul, and there is little else which warms me now.
The shrieking call from a bird of prey forces me to look up into the darkening sky, and I am rewarded with a single feather wafting down into my field of view. I watch it lightly dance down through the air currents until it rests upon a rock before me, the only evidence I have to mark the presence of the bird.
Continuing on my solitary walk, I begin to see the twinkle of lights as they pop on for the night in the little town over the next rise. Knowing that each light signifies another family sitting down to dinner fills me with the longing and sadness which has driven my every move for months now. I feel apart from that joy, that warmth of spirit, and mourn for a life I feel not worthy of, not yet.
I want nothing more than to hear the words that will soothe my soul and set my heart free. I long to hear the words, spoken in his gentle voice, calming my restless spirit once more. Not the words of the masters and bards, which drive home their meanings with the power of a marching band. No, I want to hear his words, quiet and loving, through careful lips and with the weight of his heart in every one. Those are the words which sing to me, in gentle melodies, carried on the wings of butterflies.
So many deep thoughts inside my head begin to weigh me down and I stop to settle myself upon the rock wall near the cottage. The mist from the crashing waves is still fresh and cool on my cheeks and it makes the warm trickle of tears that much clearer. My sorrow has quickly turned to pain and I know of only one way to deal with the pain.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull out my phone and hit redial. Without waiting to hear his greeting I simply ask, "'Come, read to me some poem…'"
Without even the hint of a pause, his voice caresses my soul, "'Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day.' But I don't need Longfellow to fill my night with music… I only need 'the beauty of thy voice' before the day is done."